


Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart

by Conscious_ramblings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1950s AU, Baker Harry, Boxer Harry, Childhood Friends, M/M, Mechanic Louis, Ok the OMC, Pining, Post War AU, Slow Burn, and then find each other again, is not as bad as it might sound, it's a plot device, post war britain, so much pining, so please don't avoid it cause of that, very little smut, who lose each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conscious_ramblings/pseuds/Conscious_ramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry had been childhood best friends, but had been separated by evacuation as the city they grew up in was destroyed around them. Now, twelve years later, they are both back in London, and through chance they meet again. In a time when you can't admit to being gay, for fear of arrest, admitting to your best friend that you love them seems like an insurmountable obstacle.</p><p>Featuring boxer Harry and mechanic Louis, much pining, and a lot of post war Britain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noellehenry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noellehenry/gifts).



> Hiii lovely person this fic was for...
> 
> I chose your last prompt and I apologise for the fact I have essentially butchered it. You asked for a 1950s highschool AU, but I really struggle to write highschool AUs, and not being American didn't want to ruin a grease AU like you suggested. So instead you get a post war britain AU set in 1952, with a childhood best friends reunited angle to give it a slight school vibe (if you squint)
> 
> Hope you aren't too upset, and sorry it's so late xx
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to some people who I can't name yet... I hope they can work out who they are (WHY DO YOU ALL HAVE THE SAME INITIALS?)
> 
> L and S and C for being my writing buddies who have seen snippets of this along the way
> 
> L again for being the best cheerleader ever
> 
> Different S for reading the first bits of it and helping me with my confidence in writing a historical AU
> 
> Different C for doing a quick and dirty beta job, any mistakes that remain are mine.
> 
> A for reading the first half of this and giving me back my confidence in this when it was at an all time low
> 
> And finally other A who has been there since I was sent the prompts, and read this, made suggestions, and generally was wonderful as she always is. All the fics are for you essentially.

Louis’ life was packed into two small suitcases stowed safely above him on the luggage rack. It didn’t seem like enough evidence of a person, of twenty four years of life, but his life had been a disrupted moveable feast since the war. Five different houses with his family, eighteen months of barracks in the army, one small room in a shared house and now two suitcases, a letter, and a person he had known once upon a time waiting for him at Kings Cross. 

He pulled the letter from the breast pocket of his tweed jacket again, unfolding it along the well worn crease lines. It had been three months since Liam had sent it. Three months of tears from his mum, of sending umpteen letters to stern land-ladies enquiring after rooms, of wondering about old friends and worrying about what London might be like these days. It had been twelve years since Louis had last set foot in the city, and in that time war had ravaged it. He woke up at night in cold sweats imagining how the city may have been changed beyond his recognition, imagining the deaths of those who stayed, even of those who left. He had tried writing to the one person whose possible death haunted him the most, but all he had was an address that was twelve years old, a house that may have been bombed into smithereens, and the name of a curly haired annoyance of a boy that he had once taught to ride a bike. Harry Styles.

He shook his head to clear the images, sipping on the tea that the char lady had brought round ten minutes earlier. It was half cold with too much milk and over stewed, but beggars can’t be choosers. The letter crinkled in his hand as he ran his thumb over the neat crisp lettering. There was a smudge of grease at one corner of the paper, and by this point Louis no longer knew if it was from him or from Liam, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

> _ Dear Louis, _
> 
> _ I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sorry that I have been so lax at keeping in contact after we were discharged. Coming home again felt like coming back to a different world, as I am sure it did for you too, and the things and people who mattered only weeks before were put to the wayside as I tried to find a life for myself in Wolverhampton. It seems missing five years of my life there, plus the army, stopped it being home though, for something in me refused to settle and thus I now find myself in the big smoke.  _
> 
> _ I never forgot the kindness you showed me, Louis. I was so young, younger than most, and yet you never sneered at me or tried to make me do your menial tasks like the others. I still owe you a debt, and this is my way of trying to repay that. I have a job here, working for a garage up in the west end. They service cars for the kind of people who don’t have to worry about rationing. They are looking for another mechanic, and I told them I know a man from my days in the national service, trained alongside him. The job is yours if you want it. It pays well, better than I could ever have hoped for a few years back. Allows me a modest place in the east end and enough money to be able to court a girl, send some home, and put a little aside for the future.  _
> 
> _ Let me know soon, Louis. They are looking for a man to start in three months time when they open a second garage. Apparently business is booming.  _
> 
> _ Yours, Liam Payne. _

  
  


Louis had met Liam when they were both conscripted into the same regiment. Liam had just turned seventeen, had signed up at the first possible opportunity, unlike Louis who had put it off for a year in the hopes national service would be abolished and he could avoid it. The National Service act had put paid to that, and he had signed up soon after. After basic training they had ended up in West Germany as part of the Rhine army, ostensibly preventing Russia from invading, but as that wasn’t exactly a daily threat, Louis had trained as a mechanic, and had dragged Liam along for the ride. 

He hadn’t even liked Liam at first. He had been such a typical ‘army man’ that Louis thought Liam would end up an officer in the forces for life. It turned out that despite the veneer of a personality that seemed to fit the bill, there was far more to Liam than met the eye. The other man had felt trapped, stifled by the regulation and structure of the forces. Louis, who many back in Doncaster had joked would be the first person to be let off national service due to being a pain in the arse, had conversely flourished. He knew how to push at the rules that surrounded him, where to press back to find relief. Liam, with his adherence to every regulation and utter fear of stepping a toe out of line, had no such relief. That was until Louis took him under his wing. The first thing to go was the god awful moustache Liam had been trying to grow, with a promise that he could try again when he wasn’t seventeen and had a touch more testosterone in his bloodstream. The second thing had been the stick up his arse, unceremoniously removed by a fully unsanctioned trip off barracks to the nearest town and a very drunken fumble with a local German girl. Louis had taken the opportunity to get friendly with a very nice American GI, but the less Liam knew about that the better.

Over their eighteen months in the forces they had become firm friends, and Louis would be lying if he had claimed the silence after they escaped hadn’t stung somewhat. He had written to Liam a couple of times, but the letters had been returned to him unopened with a big “not known at this address” stamp across the front. Receiving the letter in his hand had been a shock, for all he knew Liam had followed his dreams and bought a one way ticket on a boat to America.

The slowing of the train jolted him from his reminiscing. Outside the window North London trundled past as they pulled ever closer to their destination. The sky was grey and heavy, a mixture of the weather and the smog that hung over the city like a permanent pal. It was nothing new to Louis, the last couple of years he had been living in Sheffield, unable to move back to the small house his family rented in Doncaster after the Army. Even his skin had felt too small for him back then, even visits to the town he had spent his teenage years in made him feel claustrophobic. He went home every Sunday for tea with his sisters and his mum. Since Mark had died in Italy during the war he felt guilty staying away long even if it made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. His mum had been lucky, she’d met a lovely doctor who had married her just after Louis left the Army, and she’d had yet another set of twins. That had been a huge factor in Louis allowing himself to move back to London, that his family were ok. He’d tried to persuade his mum they should move back with him, but she said there was nothing for her in London anymore. Mark was gone, their house was gone, and all that was left were the ghosts of a life that didn’t exist anymore.

The train shuddered to it’s final halt. Louis stood and stretched his back, aching after hours in a cramped carriage. He quickly re-situated his braces before slipping into the tweed jacket. It was the most expensive thing he owned, he spent a lot of his time in overalls as a mechanic, but he wanted to make a good impression on his new landlady. He needed to at least give off a glimmer of respectability.

The platform was crowded with people bustling around. He helped a lady carry her bags down from the train and found her a porter before finally heading in the direction of where he had agreed to meet Liam. He saw his friend long before he reached him, Liam stood almost to attention at the end of the platform. The moustache was still gone, thankfully, and his hair was cropped short at the sides, slightly longer on top. He still looked every inch the army man, but the messy way his sleeves were pushed up his arms and the creases in his trousers gave him away. There was a softness to his face that came from not being subjected to army rations, something that spoke of a butcher that slipped an extra few ounces of meat his way under the counter perhaps. It suited him, matched the softness that had always been in his eyes.

“Liam,” he called as he drew close enough, “good to see you again!” He held out a hand for the other man to shake, but the formality of it felt wrong and he quickly drew Liam in, patting him solidly on the back. It drew some looks from those around them, but the smile on Liam’s face made it worth it. 

“I’m so glad you came.” Liam was effusive, still as puppy-like in his enthusiasm as he had been two years previously. 

“Of course I came, London’s still home despite everything. Always intended on getting back here, just didn’t know how. You’re my fairy godfather.” Liam threw his head back and laughed loudly at Louis’ words, drawing more looks from those around them.

“Come on, let’s get going before we draw a crowd. Your place is out Shoreditch way, yeah? I’m Mile End, so we’re pretty close.” Louis already knew that, they had written a few times about where was good for Louis to find a place, but he nodded along with Liam’s words anyway. They exited the station to the side, the frontage still a mess of scaffolding where it was being rebuilt. Apparently it had been badly bombed and was still in the process of being made fully useable again. 

Liam brought them down into the underground, buying two tickets from the booth before they ventured deeper to find the train. The district line train would take them to Liverpool street where they could walk to Louis’ new place. The tube was going to take some getting used to. Growing up in South London he had rarely ventured north, and had definitely never got on the tube without his mother. Living in the South Yorkshire countryside and then in Doncaster hadn’t exactly got him used to mass transport either. 

When they finally emerge onto Bishopsgate Louis was struck by just how much damage had been done to this city. Empty swathes of land stood like missing teeth against the skyline, rubble still piled up in sad heaps where once there had been life. Louis found his gaze drawn to every plot, where Liam’s eyes seemed to skip over them like he didn’t even see them anymore. Would Louis feel like that soon? Inured to the damage that had been inflicted here? It seemed impossible in that moment, but then he had only been back in the city for a matter of hours. 

“You get used to it.” Liam muttered from beside him, as it he could pick Louis’ thoughts from his head. Louis supposed that his face had given him away, he could feel the way his mouth was drawn tight in the light of the destruction around them. “It gets better every day, something new is built, something old is cleared, something is fixed, some little part of the city heals.” 

Louis had no response, it seemed so impossible for anything to go back to how it had been before, but moving on still seemed to be something the country was struggling to do. He hummed lightly to acknowledge Liam, but otherwise stayed silent. His bags were weighing him down much like his thoughts, and the quicker they got to his new home and he could lay both down the better.

The small side road off Commercial street would be his home for the foreseeable future. A landlady had replied offering him room and board for an affordable amount with his new salary. It still seemed ridiculously expensive compared to his place in Sheffield, but there was more of a scarcity of housing here. 

When he rung the bell the door was opened by a stern, matronly woman who gave him a quick once over before she crossed her arms over her ample chest and just stared at him. It was like being back in school when the teacher knew you had done something wrong but was waiting for you to confess. Louis wasn’t sure exactly what he had done wrong this time, however.

“Mrs McCafferty? I’m Mr Tomlinson. We spoke by post. I was supposed to come today to move into my new room?” Louis suddenly doubted himself. Did he have the right address? Had she let the room to someone else? Was he somehow late despite being bang on time?

“Yes Mr Tomlinson, I’ve been expecting you, but not your  _ friend. _ ” There was a sneer in her voice as she insinuated something Louis didn’t even want to think about in regards to Liam. He couldn’t imagine that he and Liam gave off any vibes other than entirely platonic friends, but you never knew. Maybe he was so obviously gay that she assumed? It wasn’t an issue he had run into since the army but then he didn’t meet too many new people.

“Oh this is Liam, Liam Payne. We met in the Army, he got me a job in London. He’s a friend. He just picked me up from the station.” There was a feeling of protesting too much. He couldn’t outright state they were  _ just _ friends without somehow giving credence to her accusations, but he felt he was doing too much anyway. 

“An Army man? Well that’s ok then. You can’t be too careful these days, all sorts trying to get a room. I’ll have no funny business in my house.” She gave them another stern look before she opened the front door wider and stepped back to allow them in. There was a parlour to the left of the door, and that was where they were led, the smell of freshly brewed tea making Louis perk up after his long journey.

“Will you take a cup of tea, Mr Tomlinson? Mr Payne?” Louis placed his bags down beside the door as he nodded his acquiescence.

Five minutes later they were all seated around the parlour table, a fire at their backs in the hearth heating the room too much for Louis’ liking. He had got used to meagre creature comforts in his Sheffield digs. His landlady there hadn’t been much for wasting coal on the men who rented her rooms. They got the bare minimum but it did them fine, especially coming straight out of the service.

“Now Mr Tomlinson, I’ll be needing your first month's rent and your ration book.” Louis rooted in his bag to find the cheque he had cut at the bank back home, along with his battered ration book. She eyed them suspiciously before seeming to decide everything was in order. “Breakfast is from six till seven, if you miss it you’ll have to make do with bread and butter. Eight till nine on weekends. Supper is served at six pm sharp, and if you aren’t here then you can try for leftovers but no promises. I’m happy to make you a lunch to take. You can have corned beef or cheese in your sandwiches. Let me know.” 

Louis tried to keep the information straight in his head, but it was a lot to take in after the day of travelling. He was sure he would be annoying poor Mrs McCafferty before the week was out but he would at least try to be a model tenant. 

Liam left after half an hour, making his excuses that he needed to be back at his own digs for an early dinner. They parted with promises to meet at Aldgate to get the train to work together on Monday morning. Louis had stayed at home as long as he could, not wanting to be away from his family but still feeling the pull to leave. It had been a difficult decision but one he hoped would work out. 

His room, when he was shown to it, was small but fitted his needs. A single bed, a small wash basin, a solitary hard backed chair at a small writing desk, and a wardrobe and chest of drawers. There was a shared bathroom down the corridor, but he would be fighting the five other tenants for the use of it. Mrs McCafferty had her own bathroom on her floor, along with her own sitting room. 

He busied himself unpacking his bags, but his clothes only took up one and a half drawers and four hangers in the wardrobe, so it didn't take long and when he was done looked quite sad and pathetic to him. He was once again left wondering how this could be the only evidence of a man’s life. A few pictures frames with photos of his family ended up on the top of the chest of drawers, one of him and his mum, another of his sisters, and finally one of his dad. He ran his thumb over the glass as he set that one down. It had been years now, and many people had lost far more than one parent to the war, but it still tugged at the space where he presumed his heart was, making his breathing tight and his stomach roll. 

He went to bed early, exhausted from travel and feeling more homesick than he had ever expected. London was, in many ways, his home. He had been born in King's College Hospital in Camberwell, he’d grown up in a small house on Herne Hill Road. He’d learned to ride his bike in Ruskin Park and spent long summer days at the lido in Brockwell Park. He’d fed the ducks at the pond on Red Post Hill. London was home. It was where he had dreamed of returning to every night since they had left when Louis was twelve. Only now he was here his heart missed Doncaster. It even missed Sheffield which had only been home due to Doncaster being too small. Too small for the gay kid who never really fitted in in the first place. 

He fell asleep wondering about old friends and old homes.

\---

Louis woke to weak sunlight pushing past the threadbare curtains in his room. He was disoriented, forgetting momentarily that this was his new home. The bed felt hard beneath his back, and the sheets itched against his bare skin. The alarm beside his bed was ringing, drilling into his brain. He pushed back the sheets and felt his back crack with the movement. It would take some getting used to a hard bed again, but he had managed in the army after all. There were worse things he could have to put up with. 

Breakfast was toast with a scrape of butter and a meagre portion of scrambled eggs. It seemed Mrs McCafferty was very frugal with the rations her tenants were due, but Louis thought better than to complain just yet. There was plenty of tea, however, and a slightly warm bottle of milk sitting on the side to help himself to. That was all he really needed, at least until he woke up slightly more. 

After a perfunctory wash, Louis dressed quickly and slipped out onto the main road. He had no real idea where he intended to go, but found himself wandering in the direction of the river. It had been so long since he had seen the Thames. Even before they left London his mum had been too afraid to take them far from home for a year. That year between war being declared and them giving into evacuation seemed to hang in his memory like a half formed dream. On the day war against Germany had been announced half his school had vanished overnight. Evacuated on endless trains to far flung places Louis had never even heard of. Devon and Cornwall and Lancashire and Norfolk. Places that hitherto had only existed in exceedingly dull geography lessons but which now, overnight, held his classmates, his friends, his teachers even. 

The park had gone from the heart of the community to a ghost town, it seemed. Only a few boys remained, their families too stubborn or stupid to leave. Louis’ mum had decided they would wait and see. She came from Doncaster and had family just outside where they could go if the threatened bombs came. She wouldn’t have her children shipped off to live with strangers, not on her watch.

And so they stayed. They stayed as friend after friend drifted off to places unknown. They stayed as the men vanished into compulsory service, his dad among them. They stayed when his school shut down, and they stayed when food started to run low. Finally, a year after the war had started the bombs fell. They didn’t stay after that. They packed up a few possessions and their gas masks. Louis pushed the babies in a pram. Jay pulled the older girls along behind her with demands and cajoles. They got on a train and they never looked back. 

Louis crossed London Bridge, the Thames grey and heavy with water and boats below him. Before he really knew where his feet were taking him, he’d jumped onto the back of a bus, and found himself speeding through South London towards his past. 

The bus dropped him at the bottom of Half Moon Lane and he turned to trudge slowly up it. The destruction around him tugged heavily at his heart. Where once there had been houses, now there was wasteland, or hastily erected prefabs that seemed as if they might blow away given half a chance. 

As he crested the hill and headed down Herne Hill Road there was less damage it seemed. Some houses were gone but for the most part the places he remembered still existed. His old house, number 153, was still there. It still had the gaudy red front door that his father had hated so much but his mother had insisted they keep. He stood outside on the pavement, not daring to go up the little sloped path to the front door. 

There was life in the house. A light behind the net curtains of the large kitchen in the front, an open window in the tiny room above the front door which had once been his. It seemed a lifetime ago, and in many ways he supposed it was, and yet he could still remember that house clear as day. It’s large back garden where he had helped him mum build an Anderson shelter when the threat of bombs had first started. The row upon row of vegetables they had planted to help the war effort. The three huge beech trees that provided some privacy from the lawn bowls club behind. Mostly he remembered the raspberry bushes. They’d been there as long as he could remember and he vividly recalled long hazy summer days spent in the garden picking and eating so many they gave him tummy ache. He remembered the kid he’d fed them to as well. The kid whose lips had stained an even darker red and whose eyes had gone wide and scared when Louis first popped one off the bush and ate it.

“Louis, you’ll get in trouble.” His voice had wavered, so scared of doing the wrong thing, of Louis’ bustling happy family not wanting him to come over anymore. Their houses were next door to each other and they had a connecting gate. He’d been part of the family as long as Louis could recall, and yet he was still scared of upsetting Jay. 

Louis had smushed raspberries into the younger boy's curls, cackling loudly as he did so. They’d ended up lying in the dirt under one of the bushes, eating so many their fingers were stained red. The days merged into each other but there was one thing that was consistent through them all, and that was Harry by his side.

Louis turned to the house beside his. To Harry’s house. It was the last known address he had for the family, and he’d promised his mum that as soon as he could he would try to find Anne and Des. They’d left the city just a few days before the Tomlinsons had, escaping to Cheshire where Des had family. Des was away at war, of course, all the men were. Anne had packed up Harry and his sister Gemma and bundled them into a cab that waited out the front. 

The last memory he had of his childhood best friend was his tearful face pressed against the glass as he was driven away. 

Anne and Jay had promised to keep in touch but the war had put paid to that, and so this was the only place he had to look. The only lead. He opened the wooden gate and made his way up the short path to the door. Anticipation, worry, nerves, excitement, they all lay heavy in his stomach as he reached up to the knocker and rapped three times.

The woman who opened the door was most definitely not Anne Styles. She was maybe a few years older than Louis, and a crying toddler sat perched on her hip. She looked harassed, hair falling messily from a bun and eyes tired. For a moment Louis wondered if she was Harry’s wife, if this was his child, if this was his life. 

“I’m looking for the Styles family?” He stood back from the door, not wanting to seem inappropriate. “They lived here during the war, or at the start of the war at least.” 

The woman looked deep in thought for a moment, shifting the child slightly on her hip. A shout from inside made her turn and call something back about just being a moment, before she turned back to him.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t think I’ve heard of them. We’ve been here five years, and a few people have come back, a few have spoken about people they knew, but I don’t think I know any Styleses.” She looked truly sorry, the way everyone seemed to when they realised you’d lost someone to the war. Everyone had. Everyone could relate, but somehow that never made one's personal losses any less. 

He thanked her, apologising for taking up her time, before turning back down the path and onto the road. One last glance back showed she was still standing in the open door, watching him leave with that sad look on her face. His heart clenched. Harry and his family were likely fine. Probably happily living in Cheshire still. It just hurt more than he had ever expected, having his last chance taken away like this.

\---

 

Harry closed up the small bakery, feeling relief wash through him that another Sunday was over. He turned to look briefly up Herne Hill, up towards the crest of the hill where the road he grew up on turned down towards Brixton. He’d walked past his old house many times since they had been back, and it was always somewhat of a siren call to him. So many memories despite the fact he was only ten when they left. A before and after in his life. Before they had moved to Cheshire where no one really knew them and no one really wanted them. Before they had moved back to a smaller house off Norwood Lane. Before he had lost so much and so many people. 

He was happy. He worked in the bakery six days a week and was able to help his parents out with bills and put some aside for the future. Gemma was married and had two beautiful little girls. They lived in East Dulwich so he was able to see them often. He had friends. He had a lot to be happy about. There was just something that still tugged at his heart when he thought of a childhood disrupted and so many friends lost into the ether of evacuation. Mostly he thought of Louis, but he never spoke about it aloud. Admitting to missing the boy he hadn’t seen for twelve years wasn’t something he’d ever do openly.

He brushed a trace of flour off his trousers and headed to the gym. There was one thing that could always make him forget, always focus him, and that was boxing. He’d discovered boxing after he’d been caught in a bar fight in Brixton. It wasn’t his fault, and he hadn’t started it, would never have started it, but he had finished it with a right hook to his assailant’s jaw that had fractured it and three of his own knuckles. 

Jeff had dragged him from the bar before the police arrived, Harry owed the man his freedom. Harry hadn’t known where they were going, and was almost blinded by the pain in his hand, but somehow they had ended up in a boxing club. Jeff’s dad ran the place and he’d been sceptical. He took one look at Harry’s busted hand and dismissed all of Jeff’s claims that Harry was a natural. He was probably even more sceptical when Harry finished telling him that he’d just got out of his National Service and had never thrown a punch in his life and it was all a big misunderstanding. For some reason he trusted Jeff though, and as soon as Harry’s hand was healed Irving had asked him to come in and spar. The rest was history.

He dropped his bag as soon as he got into the gym, pulling on his shorts and a vest, socks and boots. He was sat on a bench wrapping his hands when he heard the familiar Irish drawl that meant Niall was in the vicinity. 

“Harry! How are you? Feeling good? Feeling ready? Gonna make me, I mean us, rich?” Niall’s laugh was infectious, and it followed his words rapidly. He was a bookie, one of the best Harry knew. Harry was fighting soon, some new guy, and Niall was hoping to make a killing on the book. 

“Sure, Horan.” Harry laughed back as he tried to keep his concentration on tightening the fabric around his hands just so, over one finger, under the next, around his thumb and back down his wrist, rinse, repeat. He was nervous about the fight. He always was. 

Irving and Jeff might be right, Harry might be a natural boxer. He wasn’t a natural fighter, however, and the thought of getting into a ring and actually hurting someone was never one he relished. The thought of actually getting hurt enthused him even less. The money was more than he could ever turn down though, and Jeff assured him he would beat this Malik kid hands down. 

Ten minutes of skipping later and Harry could feel the sweat trickling down his spine. Skipping was the worst part of training. He ran almost every morning before he went to the bakery, a habit picked up during his service, but apparently that wasn’t enough for the Azoffs. He needed to skip for footwork too. Jeff yelled at him about it almost daily. He still had another ten minutes to go before anyone would even consider sparring with him. 

“Harry, time.” The blessed call from Jeff was like music to his ears. He slipped into the ring and let everything else slip away. Lingering memories of the boy with the blue eyes and raspberry juice on his lips faded as he slipped into the familiar routine of following Jeff’s calls. Jab, jab, hook, uppercut, jab, defend, defend, watch your guard, uppercut, jab, jab, hook.

\---

 

“So H, the big fight.” Niall mused as he sipped his pint. “You are gonna win, aren’t you?” 

“I’m going to try.” Harry mumbled into his drink. He hated the pressure that came with being best friends with London’s premiere bare knuckle boxing bookie. If he messed up then Niall would be out of pocket. It was a lot. 

“That’s all I ask, Henry.” Harry glared at him. It didn’t matter how many times he had shown Niall his identification to prove that his name wasn’t Henry, Niall insisted. Kings called Henry get called Harry till they are king, he argued, and Harry was King of the underground boxing scene. Or something. Niall could be very persuasive. 

“Liam wants us to meet them for drinks soon by the way. His friend from the service has just moved back to London and doesn’t know many people, so I said we would show him the ropes, before they come to your match and you really show them the ropes.” Niall laughed loudly at his own, very unfunny, joke. Harry knew unfunny jokes, he was king of those too according to his friends. He just rolled his eyes and sighed in response.

“Sure, another newbie who will vanish back to the sticks as soon as they realise that the streets aren’t paved with gold and it’s not all Dick Whittington.” Now it was Niall’s turn to roll his eyes. Harry was right though. Everyone new ended up going back eventually. Not that Harry was bitter about losing anyone, not that he’d ever admit to Niall how cut up he was about Greg going back to America. That would mean admitting he was gay, and while Niall likely suspected, it wasn’t something Harry was going to say out loud.

Greg had claimed he was going to stay. He’d been based outside London with the American Army and they’d met in London’s one and only gay bar. It was a small place, and you had to be in the know to even have heard of it, but it was a far nicer place to meet people than cottaging, and far lower risk of being arrested. So Harry had started going about two years ago, just after it opened, and had met Greg soon after. Greg had never really got on with Harry’s friends, had been a bit of an idiot to them, truth be told, but Harry had somehow convinced himself it might actually be love just as Greg had admitted he was going back to Massachusetts to marry his childhood sweetheart. A childhood sweetheart who was very much female. So Harry had reason to be wary of newcomers. They never stayed.

“Liam says he’s from round here, so he’s not really a newcomer.” Niall cut into his thoughts, sweeping the cobwebs of hurt that still lingered in Harry’s mind away. “Says he’s a good lad too. Give him a chance, Henry.”

\---

 

Louis’ first week was over. He clocked out and pushed his hair back off his face where it had fallen, wondering how he had even got through the week. Liam hadn’t lied, the clients and the cars they were working on were posh. Louis had been more used to tractors and buses and pit vehicles in Sheffield, with very few airs and graces between him and the men who brought them in for repair. Here, however, he was lucky if he even got to talk to the owners of the cars, and even more lucky if they looked at him as anything even remotely resembling their equal. He’d had to bite his tongue on more than one occasion, which wasn’t really something that came easily to him.

It was over, though, and he had a full two days of freedom to relax and explore the city. He still felt like North London was a foreign concept to him, and he wanted to spend more time getting to know it. He needed to write to his mum and his sisters and a few friends, too. For now though, he desperately needed a wash and a change of clothes.

“Here you go, Tommo.” Liam handed him a small envelope with some folded notes inside, his pay for the week. It was fatter than he had anticipated, somehow easing some of the burden of his week. “Now, let's go spend some of it, eh? Pub?” 

“I can’t Li, I’ll miss dinner and I need a bath.” Louis’ protests fell on deaf ears as Liam held up a hand to quiet him. 

“There’s a cheap pie and mash shop near the pub, and you look fine. Girls love the mechanic thing, trust me.” Louis’ eye roll was entirely internal, girls weren’t exactly his top priority. “I want you to meet some people.”

Louis was powerless in the face of persuasion and the promise of beer, and so forty minutes later he found himself in a pub in Mile End, sipping the first glorious mouthful of hoppy ale. The stress that had fallen from his shoulders with his pay packet was eased even further as the mouthful slipped down, leaving the bitter aftertaste in his mouth that he loved so much.

Liam led them to a booth where a couple of men around their age were sat. The one on the right had brown hair and a wide toothy smile. He waved at them as they came over.

“Louis, this is Niall. Niall, Louis.” Liam gestured to the brown haired boy who had his hand out ready to shake. His grip was strong, eyes sparkling with barely concealed mischief as he took Louis in. 

“And this is my friend Deo.” Niall pointed to the other man, who was politely shaking Liam’s hand before he offered it to Louis. Both men seemed to be Irish, although Deo’s accent was shot through with a vein of East London too. 

Talk was easy. It seemed Niall could talk enough for all of them, even if they hadn’t all contributed their fair share. Niall was a bookie. He ran a book on an underground bare knuckle boxing ring, although he also apparently did more legal work on proper boxing, it’s just that wasn’t where the money was. Deo was a builder, working out in the docklands at the moment where there was a big push to try and rebuild the damage done by the bombs. He didn’t seem hopeful that the work would ever achieve much. 

Niall spoke at length about his friend Henry, who was a boxer fighting soon. He insisted that Liam and Louis came to the fight. Apparently he was fighting an Indian boy, one who was the son of a  diplomat. Apparently he was at Oxford and just fought South London boys with no boxing gloves on, and very few rules, for fun. It was a strange idea of fun, if you asked Louis, but who was he to judge? 

Conversation moved on to where they all hailed from, Niall and Deo coming from somewhere they claimed hardly registered on a map. Niall refused to believe that Louis was from London, saying his accent was far too strong to have been picked up at twelve. It became a running joke, with Niall determined that Henry, who was apparently  _ actually _ from South London, would be judge and jury when first they met.

A few more pints were consumed before they found themselves stumbling out of the shop in search of pie and mash. The meat filling was stingy and mostly vegetables and gravy, but it tasted like heaven after a week of Mrs McCafferty’s cooking and a few jars of ale that towards the end had quite possibly become watered down piss. 

When they split in search of their respective homes with promises to meet again soon, Louis felt more embedded after one night with Niall and Liam in the pub than he had achieved in a week. He fell into his too small, too hard bed without even bothering to brush his teeth, knowing he would regret it in the morning but hardly caring in the moment. 

\---

 

Harry was back in the gym, sweat pouring down the back of his neck. Jeff was working him hard on the bags, no gloves, just wraps, trying to ensure his knuckles were hard and ready for the upcoming fight. He had a month before the big one. There were some small fights before, local lads from Brixton and Lewisham, but the one that the money stood on, that was a mere 31 days away. Zayn Malik. He was the son of an Indian diplomat. Well, Pakistani now, Harry guessed, although they had been here before independence and the split of India into its separate parts. Zayn was at Oxford studying Law. Magdalen College apparently, although that meant very little to Harry.

Zayn was someone Harry had watched fight a few times but had never really spoken to. From others, and from his blurry memories of fights watched through a haze of beer, he knew the other man was shorter than him, slighter, but wiry. Quick on his feet and boxed with his brain rather than his body. To win Harry was going to have to be the best he’d ever been. Which was why every evening and spare hour was spent in the Azoff’s gym, sweating up a storm as Jeff and Irving shouted at him, ran him through drills, sparred with him and generally made his life miserable.

He’d had to turn down so many nights out with Niall, not that he was that upset. Niall was still insistent on him meeting this new kid of Liam’s, and Harry still very much wasn’t interested. His friends were settled. He’d known them all for years now, bar Liam. New people left. They packed up and went somewhere that wasn’t a shell of a city trying desperately to hold itself together with prayers, wishes and ration cards. Harry was sick of being left behind.

“Woah there, Henry,” Niall called across the gym, making Harry suddenly aware of how hard he had been laying into the bag in front of him. 

“Still not fucking called Henry,” Harry muttered under his breath as he turned to the Irishman who had invaded his focus. 

“Jeff!” Niall patted Jeff on the back as he came over, making a pointed show of smiling at the older man and being as friendly as possible. Niall wanted something. “I need to borrow young Henry here, tonight. Got people and places to see and a bet to settle. You wouldn’t begrudge your favourite bookie the chance to settle a bet would you?”

Jeff rolled his eyes but the look in his face was fond. It was impossible to not be fond of Niall. 

“He needs to do another hour and then he’s all yours.” Jeff turned back to the ring where another pair of boxers were sparring lightly. 

“I am here you know. Don’t I get a say on if I’m Niall’s?” Harry knew there was no point in arguing but it felt like the point had to be made all the same. 

“Just get on with it, Styles. Half an hour on the bag and then weights.” Jeff’s attention was already focused on the bout in front of him, calling out instructions to James who was fighting his first fight next week. Harry looked over at them almost jealously before turning back to his own bag. One more hour.  
  


\---

 

Louis had been in London for over a month, and had only agreed to go out with Liam three times since he had arrived. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, or didn’t like Liam, it was that it was so much easier to not have to pretend to be like all the other lads. It hurt Liam though. Louis could see it in his eyes every time he turned down an invitation, could sense him pulling away from Louis just that little bit further each time. If Louis wasn’t careful he wouldn’t have any friends to have to pretend to not be gay with soon.

So Louis let himself be dragged to the pub by Liam despite wanting nothing more than a quiet Friday night in with a book. There were only so many times he could turn down invitations before people started to worry about him, but also only so many times he could pass off the questions about why he wasn’t dating before he started to worry about himself. 

Apparently tonight Niall was coming, and was bringing some friends. That had been the incentive Louis needed to come along and have a few jars before he slipped off into the night. Niall was a living distraction from awkward questions, always the life and soul of any gathering, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. When Niall was there Louis could drift, fade into the background, deflect questioning glances and just enjoy himself. They’d only met a few times, but he already felt more relaxed with the man than with many people he had known for years.

“Lads!” Niall’s shout went up almost as soon as they entered the bar. He was stood by a booth, gesturing wildly at Liam and Louis whilst still, it seemed, holding a conversation with its occupants. They made their way across the crowded room, Liam using his height and broad shoulders to push his way through. Louis followed in his wake, content to not have to fight tonight. 

“Liam, Louis, this is Henry and Nick.” Niall gesticulated towards two men but Louis’ gaze was caught by the first, the rest of the conversation lost to him as he took the man in. He had slicked back dark hair which curled at the ends where no amount of brylcreem seemed to be able to tame it. His nose was a touch too big, his mouth a touch too wide, his lips a touch too pink. It shouldn’t work, all together like this, but it did. Add in the man’s eyes and you had a recipe for Louis’ downfall. Those eyes hadn’t left Louis as his own had roamed over the man’s face, and now they pierced into him, green and cool but aflame with something. Louis held the gaze a beat too long to be proper, although to the frank he had lost that battle some time ago, before Liam’s cough broke the reverie he had been in. 

“Hi, I’m Liam.” Liam was leaning in front of Louis to shake Henry’s hand, blocking Louis’ view for a second. Henry politely exchanged pleasantries while Louis introduced himself to Nick, but as soon as that was done Louis could feel Henry’s eyes on him again. There was something there, some string that seemed to be tied between them. It felt like nostalgia and the newness of spring all at once, and it terrified Louis. 

“Lovely to meet you. I’m Louis.” He held out his hand for the other man to shake, trying desperately to cling to respectability in the middle of this crowded pub. 

“Harry.” The other man, who Louis had been sure was called Henry, said simply. His eyes still bored into Louis, that sweet nostalgic feeling settling over them like a slightly suffocating cloak. 

“Oh, I thought Niall said...” Louis trailed off, not certain he could actually trust his hearing in this busy bar and not really sure why he was questioning someone on their own name. Like there was a chance they might get it wrong. 

Harry was laughing, or trying to control his laughter anyway. Nick just looked exasperated, and Niall was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Niall calls me Henry. It’s a stupid joke,” Harry managed to say through his laughter before Niall cut him off.

“It’s not stupid. Kings called Henry are called Harry before they are king. Harry is a king. Therefore Henry.” Niall spoke with the practiced air of someone who had given this speech a million times before. Louis just looked between the two of them, utterly confused as to what was really going on, while Nick and Liam seemed to have experienced this so many times it no longer fazed them.

Conversation drifted into what everyone did for a living as the pints flowed freely. Nick worked for the beeb on the radio, or worked for the radio anyway. Apparently it was a slightly bitter sticking point that his lack of a received pronunciation accent stopped him being actually on the radio. He had been having elocution lessons but the payoff wasn’t quite there yet, with him becoming more northern with every sip of his beer. Harry was a baker and a boxer which seemed a slightly strange combination to Louis, but he kept that to himself, not wanting to offend people before he even knew them.

“So, Henry, I need you to settle this bet for me.” Niall had just returned from the bar with yet another tray of beers, and had squeezed himself in beside Louis, pushing Louis closer to Harry, so close their thighs touched. 

“I’m not sure what help I can be unless it's a bet about how to make the best bread, but I’ll try,” Harry fell about laughing at his own non joke, and Louis was so endeared already. He schooled himself, holding in his reactions like he had been doing all his life. 

“Well, you see. Louis here claims to be from South London like you, only he sounds to me like he’s Yorkshire through and through. You get to settle the bet on if he’s from there.” Niall handed out drinks as he spoke, withholding Louis’ until the outcome of the bet.

“I left London when I was twelve, Niall. It was the middle of a war. It seemed wise to try and fit in. Plus my mum is from Yorkshire so it’s not like I’d never been exposed to it.” Louis directed most of his explanation to Harry, whose eyes were sparkling with mirth at Louis’ expense. It felt silly to have to justify himself, explain he really was a Londoner, but Niall was like a dog with a bone.

“Where did you grow up?” Harry’s voice was soft and kind despite the laughter behind it, and it almost felt like a bubble grew around them as he spoke, even though the others were listening closely.

“Herne Hill, moved to Doncaster in 1940. I’ve only been back a month or so.” Louis could hear the apology in his voice, but wasn’t sure what it was for. Maybe for Harry being dragged into this, maybe for having lost his London accent, maybe it was directed at himself for having stayed away so long that London  _ wasn’t _ home anymore.

“Really? Me too. I lived on Herne Hill Road, left in 1940 too, but we came back straight after the war. Moved closer to Brockwell Park.” Harry never broke eye contact and the bubble around them seemed to thicken.

“I lived on Herne Hill Road too. Wait. Harry? Harry Styles?” Something beautiful dawned on Harry’s face, as the same thing unfurled in Louis’ chest. The nostalgia that had seemed to hang over them fell into place, as Louis realised he was sat pressed against his childhood best friend.

“Louis Tomlinson?” Harry’s grin grew even bigger as he spoke, familiar dimples coming out to settle around his mouth.

“You can’t be Harry. Last time I saw you, you had blonde curly hair and a snotty nose. How did that little kid turn into you?” Louis was laughing openly, not really able to believe that after hunting around for the Styles family only a few weeks ago, Harry had been under his nose and in his extended friendship group all this time.

“Puberty was kind to me,” Harry dimpled even deeper, as Niall coughed from beside Louis. They both ignored him, and everyone else. “What a small world, I can’t believe twelve years later we meet through Niall, of all people.” 

The evening continued with beer and catching up and that strange tension between them that had been there from the start. While Louis had initially explained it away with attraction, and then the heavy weight of nostalgia and a shared past, it didn’t shift, didn’t change. Louis was hyper aware of everything Harry did, said. Every minute movement was catalogued and filed away in a box that Louis didn’t even understand the purpose of yet. All he knew was fate had smiled upon them, and he wasn’t one to deny fate.

\---

 

> _ Dear Mum, _
> 
> _ How are you and Dan? How are the girls? And the twins? I miss you all so much. I know London offers me opportunities I couldn’t have at home, but I miss you all the same. Work is good. My boss seems happy with my work and even talked about a raise in a few months if I continue to work as I am.  _
> 
> _ I’m writing to you with happy news. I know I told you in my letter weeks ago that I hadn’t been able to find the Styles family when I went down to Herne Hill, but through a series of coincidences I met a man in a pub last night who turned out to be little Harry. I was shocked as I am sure you are. He’s almost unrecognisable, apart from those dimples. It turns out he’s been working as a baker since his draft, in that little bakery you used to love when we were little (it survived the war, I will bring you some biscuits next time I come home). Anne and Des moved back to London just after the war, but are closer to Forest Hill than they were before, which is, I suppose, why I couldn’t find them.  _
> 
> _ I have given Harry your address to pass on to Anne, so I hope you will hear from her yourself soon. Harry and I intend on meeting soon to catch up properly, so I will let you know how that goes in my next letter.  _
> 
> _ I will be home for Easter in a few weeks. I’ll send you the details of my train as soon as I can.  _
> 
> _ Love to all _
> 
> _ Louis _

 

\---

 

Harry came downstairs to the smell of bacon and freshly toasted bread. He had brought the loaf home a couple of days ago, and knew it was past its best, but his mum was very waste not, want not, and so they would be having it as toast for the next two mornings. 

“Hello, love. How was your night with the boys? There’s tea in the pot.” His mum was a ray of sunshine, bustling around their small kitchen as she shovelled a couple of rashers of bacon and an egg onto his plate, along with some toast. 

“Yeah,” Harry sipped his tea, sighing in relief as the hot tannins revived him, “it was good. Actually, I have some news for you. I met someone special last night.”

Anne’s eyes lit up like a firework, instant interest sparked there. She stood leaning against the counter, her own tea in her hand, trying to feign indifference, but Harry could see the excitement that thrummed in her every muscle. He shouldn’t have phrased it like that, she would only get her hopes up.

“A girl? Have you finally met a nice girl, Harry? I knew Liam would be a good friend, he’s such a good boy. Is she a friend of Laura’s? Are you taking her dancing? What’s her name?”

Harry couldn’t get a word in edgeways as her excitement ran wild. Guilt pooled in the pit of his stomach for the fact he didn’t want to provide her with a nice daughter in law, followed swiftly with pain at the fact he probably would have to settle down with someone he felt nothing but friendship for one day. 

‘It’s not a girl, mum.” He finally managed to jump in, needing to deflect her eagerness onto Louis and his family before she became upset over his continuing bachelordom. “I did meet them through Liam though so you are half right. I met Louis, Louis Tomlinson, Jay’s son.”

If anything the excitement in Anne’s eyes, which Harry had expected to be extinguished, only grew, accompanied by a slight mistiness that his mum only got when discussing the war.

“Oh gosh,” she sighed out the words as she placed her tea on the table. “Are they all ok? Jay, and Mark, and Louis and the girls?”   
  
“Mark died in North Africa apparently.” Harry reached out and took his mum’s hand, struggling to tell her yet another friend was dead even ten years after the fact, even when they had lost so many and you’d expect them to be inured to the pain. 

“Oh that poor woman, all those children too. Is she back in London with Louis?” Anne squeezed his hand so tight he thought the bones might break. He knew she was thinking of how different things could have been if Des hadn’t come home from France. 

“No, she remarried apparently, a doctor. She has another set of twins who are two years old, and they still live in Doncaster. Here, I have her address for you.” Harry handed over the scrap of paper Louis had hastily scrawled his mother’s address on, despite there being a part of him that didn’t want to give up the one thing he owned that Louis had touched. He tried to tell himself it was because this one thing proved Louis existed, proved Harry had found his friend, but even he knew it was a lie. 

Liam had given no indication that Louis might be inclined in the same way Harry was, although Harry doubted that Niall had given any indication of his own inclinations either. Louis was his childhood best friend, though. Harry shouldn’t be pining over him like this. The chances that Louis shared his interest in men was slim to none, and if Harry continued like this he would only ruin things. 

As soon as Anne was busy with finding a pen and paper to draft a letter to Jay, Harry grabbed his boxing gear and headed to the gym. An hour and a half of skipping and conditioning and punching the hell out of a bag later, and he could almost convince himself that he wasn’t thinking about Louis. Each punch, each connection, each shudder up his arms, each drip of sweat that rolled down his naked back, every single thing was just a smokescreen to mask the fact his brain was screaming at him about the boy he once knew who had grown into a man Harry wanted so desperately to know again. He needed to know if his eyes still reflected the colours of the sky, if his skin still turned nut brown at the slightest hint of sun, if his lips tasted like the raspberry juice that had stained them every summer. 

\---

  
  


It had been two weeks since Louis had met Harry again. Two weeks of chats in the pub surrounded by their friends and yet somehow sequestered away in a bubble of just the two of them. Niall and Liam wouldn’t stop teasing over the fact both Harry and Louis were suddenly more keen to come to the pub than they had been before. Niall made a big production of it every time, going on about how he and Liam weren’t good enough for either of them but now they graced them with their presence. 

They hadn’t spent any time alone together, however, Louis not having been able to engineer an excuse that didn’t sound wholly inappropriate. That was until Harry had invited him to come and meet him from training. The plan was to meet, go for a walk around Brockwell Park, and eventually go to Anne’s for dinner. Louis was meant to meet Harry at three pm, which didn’t really explain why he was stood outside the gym at three ten, too worked up to be able to go inside. 

Being friends and only friends with Harry had seemed like a wonderful plan to start with. Louis’ initial crush on the cute, dark haired man should have faded as soon as he found out who that man was, and he had expected it to. That didn’t explain why he was currently standing outside the boxing gym, knowing Harry was inside sweaty and half naked, pacing as he bit his nails and tried to work up the courage to go in. 

When Louis finally opened the battered old door and stepped inside he was confronted by the scent of sweat mixed with an undertone of something spicy and so manly. It was overwhelming and became even more so when he caught sight of Harry in the ring. He was dressed only in loose shorts, hands simply wrapped. His skin shimmered as his muscles moved while he ducked and weaved around his opponent, a taller man, stocky with dark hair. The man was shouting instructions at Harry, blocking punches and occasionally throwing some of his own. Louis was transfixed. Harry was a vision. His hair wasn’t slicked back for once, and the slight curl that Louis had been so obsessed with for the past few weeks was even more evident. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when the trainer caught his eye, smirked slightly, and called time. It finally dragged Louis out of his haze just in time to collect himself before Harry turned to see him. His face was flushed and glowing. All Louis could imagine was Harry over him, fucking into him, flushed and sweaty and beaming like he was at that moment. It was a dangerous path to go down but Louis was already sprinting along it, little chance of finding his way back to platonic friendship. 

“Lou!” Harry called to him, breathless and raspy and that didn’t help one bit. “I’m just going to shower and change. Jeff’ll look after you, won’t you Jeff?” Jeff seemed to be the man with Harry in the ring, from the way he ducked under the ropes and headed towards Louis, hand out to shake. It was strange shaking his wrapped hands but Louis tried to look unaffected by everything that had just happened, he could be polite and normal he told himself. 

“So you’re the famous Louis our Harry won’t shut up about?” There was laughter in Jeff’s tone and Louis wasn’t one hundred percent sure he liked it. A tendril of jealousy curled around his heart at the familiar way this man seemed to have about Harry, even when he was telling Louis exactly what Louis’ heart needed to hear. 

“I guess I am. Louis Tomlinson, pleasure to meet you.” Jeff lead them into a small room to the side of the main gym, where the scent of sweat and man was less oppressive, leaving Louis feeling like he could breathe properly for the first time since he walked in. Jeff found two bottles of ale on a shelf behind a battered desk piled high with papers, and offered one to Louis as he gestured towards a chair. Conversation was stilted as they sipped on their beers, focused mainly on Harry as their common point of interest. The jealousy didn’t abate as Louis discovered just how well Jeff seemed to know Harry, what an important part of Harry’s life he was. Jeff knew Harry’s friends, had met his parents, been to dinner with them. Louis shouldn’t be jealous. Jeff also spoke of a girl he was courting, an American called Glenne who had come over to work on one of the bases and stayed when she fell in love, but there was something there he couldn’t shake. Maybe it was just that this man knew Harry now, whereas Louis only really knew Harry as a child. Jeff knew the everyday ins and outs of Harry’s life, his daily routine, the struggles he had gone through after leaving the service, the little old ladies who came to the bakery he worked in, every victory and loss he had experienced in the ring. Louis knew childhood games and hot summer days in the park. He’d missed out on so much.

When Harry returned he was the picture of respectability again, hair neatly pushed back, shirt buttoned to his neck. The pang of loss Louis felt for the dishevelled man in the ring shouldn’t have been so strong, the desire to mess him up to get him back in that state shouldn’t have been stronger. 

They bade their farewells to Jeff, promising Louis would come and catch up with him again soon, and headed along the road into Brockwell Park. The Lido they had swam in as children was closed, spring only just starting to bloom around them. It would be a couple of months until it was warm enough to swim. The park was bustling with families, small children and dogs running to and fro around them, screams of delight filling the air. It was easy to slip back to being children together here, to forget that more than ten years and a war separated them from that time. 

Conversation flowed as it always did with Harry, easy and natural. Harry told long rambling stories about everything from moving to Cheshire to how difficult it still was to find good flour for the bakery. Every word was carefully chosen and slowly delivered, but Louis was transfixed by them, hanging on to each and every one like it might impart some deep knowledge about the universe. 

When the sun started to set they turned back towards Forest Hill and the small house Harry shared with his parents. Louis was nervous and the nerves built as they walked. He hadn’t seen Anne or Des since he was a child, and while he knew they would likely welcome him like one of their own, he still felt fear building in his stomach. Maybe it was the inappropriate thoughts he had been having about their son all day. Maybe it was the way he wanted to reach out and grab Harry’s hand as they walked, maybe it was the way that every time Harry talked Louis was mesmerised by his lips and by thoughts of kissing them. 

By the time they arrived Louis had packed up his feelings in the box he’d built years ago, ready to present himself as the socially respectable young man that Harry’s parents would expect. He sometimes thought he should have been an actor instead of a mechanic.

Seeing Anne and Des was like slipping into an old comfortable pair of slippers. Everything came naturally and conversation flowed. Anne and Jay had been in touch over the past few weeks, but Anne was curious to hear all of their families news face to face. By the time Louis left to get the last bus home he was exhausted but happy. He could be Harry’s friend. He could put his feelings aside. He needed to be able to, he couldn’t lose Harry again.

\---

 

The Friday after dinner with Harry’s family Louis found himself standing outside nondescript green door on the Kings Road. This was part one in operation: forget you have a ridiculous crush on your childhood best friend. He had been told about the bar a few weeks prior by a guy he had met at a cruising spot. That had been just before he met Harry, and he hadn’t acted on the information since, too consumed by thoughts of green eyes and pink lips. That changed tonight. Louis had been recommended, his name was on the list, this was happening.

The cellar bar that made up this ‘private members’ club’ was small and cramped and filled with smoke, but it was a safe haven. Gateways was full of gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, and others; Jamaican immigrants who felt safer here than in mainstream bars, drag queens who could finally express themselves, others who played with gender in less flamboyant ways. It was a safe haven, a place to find community in a world where their brothers and sisters were being arrested at an alarming rate. Despite the heady, smoky atmosphere Louis felt like he could breathe more easily than he had done since moving to London. 

The bar was along the end wall, a crowd pushed against it waiting to be served. It didn’t take long after joining the mass for Louis to feel bodies pressed against his own, compliments whispered in his ear by men around him. He was flattered, but there was something holding him back, something that felt very like Harry’s hand around his wrist. 

“Not seen you here before, new to the area?” A voice in his left ear managed to capture his attention where others had failed. It was low and raspy and sounded wrecked from cheap cigarettes and expensive whisky. In short it sounded like Harry. When Louis turned, however, the man in front of him was nothing like his childhood best friend. Blonde with dark blue eyes, taller than Harry, and slight of frame where Harry was broad and muscular. The man wasn’t Louis’ type, far from it, but the prospect of a distraction, one so different to Harry and yet with  _ that  _ voice, it was enough to have him smiling coyly, turning on the charm.

“Moved back to London a few months ago,” he spoke directly into the blonde’s ear, having to go up on his tiptoes to do so, something which really shouldn’t be so hot. “I only found out about the gates a few weeks ago though.”

“A few weeks and yet this is the first time I’ve seen you? A travesty to be honest.” The man winked, his arm snaking around Louis’ waist to hold him up, their faces level.

“What can I say, I’m a busy man.” It felt so wrong, to flirt like this, but Louis forcibly pushed it out of his mind, Harry was out of bounds, and this guy was warm and real and right here. 

“Well Mr Busy, can I buy you a drink in return for your name? I’m Gareth.” The arm around his waist squeezed before slackening, letting him drop back onto the flats of his feet. 

“Louis, and a vodka and soda please.” Gareth pulled him close and pushed a path through the crowd to the bar, signalling to one of the bar staff and being served in seconds. He was clearly a regular.

The night descended into dancing and drinking and smoking more than was good for them. The piano in the corner was put to good use by other patrons, a steady stream of jazz and rock and roll flowing from it and the gramophone. Louis lost himself in it all, in being twirled in Gareth’s arms, in being able to openly express himself without the fear of being reported to the police, in the smoke that surrounded them in the small basement. He lost himself entirely. 

When the bar closed and the lights turned up there were just a few people left in the bar. Gareth held Louis close as they talked to the barmaids, all of whom Gareth seemed to know by name. The sky was growing lighter by the time they actually left, walking through Chelsea while the birds twittered and sang in the trees around them.

“I’d really like to see you again, Louis.” They stood in the middle of Sloane Square as the world came to life around them, pulled close against each other.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that too.” Their lips met, the kiss soft and gentle. There wasn’t much passion there, not from Louis’ side at least, but it was easy, not scary, not Harry, and that was all he could really hope for.

\---

 

The bar was loud and busy, but their table in the corner was relaxed and conversation was easy. Louis seemed slightly distant, but Harry couldn’t put his finger on why. Later tonight they were all going to a dance. Liam’s girlfriend, Laura, and her friends were going, hoping to be set up with Liam’s eligible friends. Harry would dance, be polite, show face, but ultimately leave alone like always. He was skilled at this now, at being friendly and kind but not too much that anyone fell for him. One day people would start to question, he knew, and he’d need to confess or find some other excuse to explain his perpetual bachelor status, but for now he had a knack for this. 

Their pints were drained and weeks caught up on, and yet still Louis was slightly separate. Harry wasn’t even sure the others noticed, maybe Louis was just distant from him. Maybe Louis had somehow sensed that Harry was gay, or worse, sensed Harry’s crush on Louis. The thought of making Louis uncomfortable like that made him feel sick to his stomach, his pie and pint threatening to reappear.

“Hey, are we ok?” He muttered quietly when the other’s were engaged in a loud conversation about Harry’s upcoming match, one Harry didn’t really want to join. He was a good boxer, great even, but hearing Niall take bets on how much damage he would do to another human being didn’t fill him with joy. In the ring something took over, it was skill and sweat and achievement, outside of it the thought felt almost sordid. 

“We’re fine, Haz.” Louis’ eyebrows scrunched together in worry. “What makes you say that?”

Harry just shrugged it off, he couldn’t explain, not without making things worse. The pit in his stomach remained, not shifted at all by Louis’ reassurance. Later though, when they were about to leave, Louis slipped his hand over Harry’s and squeezed. It would be ok, it had to be. He couldn’t lose Louis, not again.

The dance was busy, there were so many girls, all floral dresses with crinoline underskirts and stockinged legs. Niall was like a parched man in a desert seeing water for the first time in days. He danced and flirted so much, that Harry was almost able to pass by unseen. He only danced with three of Liam’s girlfriends friends, Susette, Sarah and Angela. Laura, Liam’s girl, extolled his virtues to anyone who would listen, but Niall’s exuberance was more attractive it seemed. 

Louis barely danced either. He stood by the bar for most of the night and was perfectly charming and friendly but didn’t seem interested. Maybe he had a sweetheart back in Doncaster that he hadn’t told them about, or a lost love somewhere that he was still pining for. 

A song came on that Harry had only heard once before, a Vera Lynn track that seemed to be popular by the number of couples joining the dance floor.

 

_ This lovely day has flown my way _

_ The time has come to part _

_ We’ll kiss again, like this again _

_ Don’t let the teardrops start _

_ With love that’s true, I’ll wait for you _

_ Auf Wiedersehen, sweetheart _

 

_ ‘We’ll meet again, sweetheart’ _ . Harry met Louis’ eyes across the room for a second, something charged between them that may have been just his imagination. Louis smiled ruefully, before turning to Liam and shaking his hand. The next thing Harry knew Louis was walking out of the dance hall without a backwards glance.

Later Liam would tell Harry that Louis had left to meet another friend, that he’d asked Liam to say goodbye to the rest and apologise for him being rude by not saying it himself, but he was running late. The way Harry’s heart ached really wasn’t normal, but when it came to Louis it felt like nothing was.

\---

 

Four days after the dance, Louis was lying prone under an Austin in the garage, trying to fix an oil leak and also keep his mind from wandering to Harry and his curls and his dimples and his everything. He’d left the dance in a hurry. An evening of watching Harry be charming and flirty whilst looking oh so beautiful, while Louis couldn’t touch, it was too much. That song was his final straw, lost love re-found, possibility and newness where he had no chance of that, it was too much. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact he had headed straight to Gateways and straight into Gareth’s waiting arms. 

He hadn’t been sure he would go back, even after they kissed, not sure he actually wanted to go through with whatever they had when he looked at it in the cold light of day. Then at the dance he had wanted Harry so badly, so much it tore him up inside not being able to touch. And so he had run, Gareth wasn’t a home and sunshine and his future, he knew that, but he was easy and fun and being in his arms helped Louis forget, even if just for a little while.

“Louis!” Liam’s shout was so loud that Louis nearly banged his head on the car above him in shock. He pushed himself out from under the car, only to see Liam walking away towards the office, where, behind the glass, a familiar profile stood. Harry.

A few deep breaths while washing the oil off his hands gave Louis the time to gather himself, plaster a smile on his face and put up his walls before he joined his friends in the office.

“To what do we owe this pleasure, young Harold?” Louis settled into a chair around the small table where they ate lunch, squashed in close beside Harry.

“I had the afternoon off from training so thought I’d bring you both some of the things we had left over at the bakery.” Harry beamed.

“Food’s amazing H,” Liam spoke with his mouth full, seemingly in a rush. “I’ve got to get a car over to Fulham though, so I have to run, see you at the fight?” Liam grabbed another fairy cake from the table and rushed out the door, leaving Louis alone with Harry. Silence hung between them for a while, Louis picking at the food on the table, before Harry broke the silence.

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately, Lou. That’s the real reason I came.” Harry looked down at his hands as he talked, his natural effervescence missing. It killed Louis that he was the one responsible for taking that away, made him want even more to be able to get over his stupid crush and just be friends with this man who he’d missed so much.

“I’ve just been busy, adjusting to being back here, you know. Getting to know people.”  _ Getting to know Gareth _ . Louis hated lying but something wouldn’t let him even allude to dating someone. He could obviously never tell Harry who, it might be easier to say he was courting or something, but he couldn’t. 

“Yeah.” Harry whispered the word sadly, clearly not comforted by Louis’ words.

“Listen, you have the fight this Saturday, yeah? I’m coming to that, but I know you’ll be busy. Let’s spend the day together on Sunday, come to mile end, I’ll show you the sights.” The way Harry’s face lit up broke Louis’ heart, he wanted so badly to be a better friend, to be everything Harry needed and not some creep who was desperately infatuated with him.

\---

 

“Harry, get your head in the game” It felt like the tenth time Jeff had shouted that at him in an hour. Irving had stormed out of the gym half an hour ago saying they may as well hand Malik the match now if this was how Harry was going to box. Despite that, despite everything that rested on this fight, Harry couldn’t seem to focus.

“Oh for God’s sake get out of my ring.”  He’d missed another open spot in Jeff’s guard, only catching the edge of his arm. A towel was thrown at his face along with the pads Jeff had been making him work. Everything ached, every muscle protested, as he ducked under the ropes and into the shower. Still Louis was the only thing he could think of. Even after they spoke the other day Harry was uneasy, unsure of where he stood with Louis. He still worried that Louis had worked out Harry was gay somehow, worked out Harry was desperately in love with Louis. Sunday was both a promise and a possible death sentence hanging over his head, and apparently it was preventing him from being able to fight. 

He packed his bag, wanting to get out of the gym as quickly as possible, not able to face Jeff or Irving’s disappointment. Just as he was about to make his escape the door to the small changing room opened, Jeff standing there with a face like thunder and a bottle in his hand.

“Here. You might be an idiot but I brought you muscle oil. You know what to do.” The bottle was shoved in his hand, and he couldn’t mask the small smile that threatened to spread. No matter how angry Jeff was he couldn’t stop being Jeff, supportive and a good friend in ways that went way beyond their trainer and boxer relationship. 

“Who is it?” That wiped the smile off Harry’s face in an instant. He tried to school his features into a mask of innocence but could see Jeff wasn’t fooled.

“You haven’t been like this since Greg left. I know you. Who is it?” Jeff blocked the door with his body, effectively trapping Harry in this conversation. 

“No one. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t even gay.” Harry’s tone was placating, pleading, laced with unspoken promises that he would get over it, would fight well. 

“Louis? Is it Louis?” Jeff was demanding, and far more perceptive than Harry might have given him credit for. 

“It doesn’t matter, ok?” One last chance at pleading. Something changed on Jeff’s face, anger gone, replaced with curiosity perhaps.

“No. Maybe it doesn’t. So long as you fight.” He turned to leave. “But H, don’t be so sure he doesn’t feel the same.” Jeff left before Harry could respond, leaving his mind in even more of a mess than it had been in the ring. Jeff had met Louis once for all of half an hour, what did he mean?

\---

 

The smoke-filled room reeked of stale cologne and sweat, hoarse shouts and taunts echoing off the walls.  Louis felt overwhelmed, fear and excitement mingling together in equal measure, anticipation and dread twisting him in knots. The charged atmosphere had been building for hours, teetering at an almost fevered pitch. Minor fights had been and gone, the bookies had made a fortune and the punters had likely all lost one. Louis had kept his money in his pocket until now though, until Niall approached him with a book just before Harry’s match.

“How much Tommo? Harry to win? I can give you 6 to 1 on that, or 25 to 1 on him knocking Malik out in the first five rounds. 14 to one on the first ten rounds.” It was all very much greek to Louis. Football was his sport, but he hadn’t ever been a betting man. 

“Uh, yeah, I want him to win. And, Niall, really? Ten rounds?” That seemed like a long time, Louis couldn’t even start to imagine Harry up there for that length of time, getting hit and hurt and, it was best not to imagine it.

“They fight till one gets knocked out. This isn’t Queensbury rules, anything goes.” Louis’ stomach twisted even more. Niall plucked a five pound note from his hand and gave him a hand written ticket in return. “You can trust me, Tommo.” 

Five minutes later the bell rang to signal the next match was about to start. Nick stepped into the ring, all long limbs and slightly shaky received pronunciation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Ok, just gentlemen. The next match is the one you are all here for, Harry ‘The Beef’ Styles, versus Zayn ‘The Sparrow’ Malik. Let’s give a big hand as we welcome them both into the ring.” There were cheers, and boos and some racist language thrown Harry’s opponents way. 

“Why’s the other guy The Sparrow?” Louis asked Niall over the shouts, trying to distract himself from the fact Harry was walking into a ring where the other guy had the sole intention of beating the shit out of him. 

“He flits about the ring, small, wiry, impossible to catch, and sings like a fucking angel.” 

“Sings?” Louis was incredulous, how the hell would Niall even know that? 

“Yup, he’s in the choir at Oxford Uni, voice like the heavens I swear to you. Get a few drinks in the lad and he’ll show you. Good lad. Clever. Takes a lot of shit. He’s not our Henry though.” Niall was nothing if not loyal.

“Seconds out. Round one.” Nick called as the bell in the ring was swung. The two men circled each other. The referee looked bored, hanging back by the ropes as he barely paid attention. Louis doubted his ability to help either man if things went bad.

The fight started slow, a few punches thrown but no damage done, both seeming to want to preserve their energy. The crowd grew restless though and by the fourth round things picked up. Nick’s between rounds commentary became more and more Northern as the stress of the occasion got to him. 

By round seven both men looked exhausted. There were bruises forming on Zayn’s shoulders where Harry had caught him, and a matching set on Harry’s ribs. Louis’ own ribs twinged in sympathy as he watched Harry wince as he heaved in gulps of air between rounds.

It was round nine when it happened. Zayn had Harry in the corner, right up against the ropes, only able to defend as Zayn rained down blows to his guard. Louis could barely see what was going on, but fear filled his body anyway, until he was tense and shaking, craning his neck to see over the crowd.

“He’ll be ok, Lou.” Niall’s voice cut through the cheers around him.

“I know.” His reply was curt, never taking his eyes off the huddle of boys, off his boy being punched repeatedly while there was nothing he could do.

“If that’s the case why are you so tense?” Niall pressed on, dividing Louis’ attention when he needed it to be wholly on Harry. There was no logic to his thoughts but if he could somehow keep all his focus on Harry then maybe he could hold the other man together, lend him strength.

“I know you love him.” The tension went out of Louis and he fell into the chair behind him, match all but forgotten as he stared at Niall, who’s face was the picture of innocence despite what he had just said. Louis loved Harry. He really really loved Harry. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Maybe Louis could still salvage this. Of course he loved Harry, he’d known Harry since he was three and Harry was one. Niall was an idiot.

“I know you love him, Tommo, and I don’t give a fuck who you love. I just want you both to be happy. You aren’t though. You aren’t happy and you’ve got to tell him.” And honestly who made Niall such a perceptive fucker? He was wrong, Louis most certainly didn’t need to tell Harry, but he was  _ perceptive _ and wrong.

Harry pushed back in the next round, raining blows down as he chased Zayn around the ring, keeping the other man on the back foot the entire time. Finally, in the last minutes of eleventh round Harry connected an uppercut directly to Zayn’s jaw. The room went wild as Zayn went down, and even wilder when he didn’t get back up during the referee’s count. Louis finally felt like he could relax when Harry’s arms were lifted above his head, a dazed and confused Zayn looking dejected beside him. Harry had won.

Louis took in the bruises on his face and body, the desire to reach out and soothe every single one with his lips too strong to cope with. Maybe Niall was right after all. He needed to tell Harry.

\---

 

“No hard feelings?” Harry winced as he put his hand out to shake Zayn’s, bruises forming rapidly, making it hard to move. 

“None, that’s the game.” Zayn was well spoken, privately educated, clearly very intelligent. It was a contrast to the way he looked, sweaty, bruised, dishevelled hair, wraps hanging loosely from his hands. It fit perfectly with how he fought though, so wasn’t as strange as it may have seemed to Harry if they hadn’t just fought the closet bout of Harry’s life in the ring.

“I have some friends going to the pub after, I think you know Niall? The bookie? You should come.” Zayn’s smile was genuine, lighting up his face despite the large bruise that already mottled his jawline.

The pub was upstairs from the room where the fight had been held, and by the time Harry and Zayn appeared it heaved with bodies and voices. In the corner Niall held court, Harry’s friends arrayed around him. It seemed Niall had made quite a bit of money tonight if the multiple jugs of ale could count for anything. Louis sat to one side, smiling and laughing but it didn't meet his eyes. 

Cheers erupted when Harry and Zayn were spotted, Zayn’s friends coming to join the party too. Drinks were passed out and backs were slapped in congratulations or commiseration. A few people complained to Harry that he hadn’t knocked Zayn out earlier, that they had lost money as a result. He honestly couldn’t have cared less. 

“You look exhausted.” Louis finally managed to make his way through the crowds of admirers, taking a seat next to Harry. 

“Just a little. Nothing too bad. Don’t worry, I won’t fall asleep on you tomorrow.” Harry could feel the dimples in his cheeks popping, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He had a whole day with Louis ahead of him. A whole day to work out if Louis knew his secret, if he cared. Harry was ninety nine percent terrified that Louis might know, that it might ruin everything. There was just that one percent chance that if Louis did know, if he had worked it out, then maybe, just maybe he might like Harry back. Harry hardly dared to hope but his optimistic heart didn’t listen to his brain.

“About that, I’m sorry Harry. I have to cancel. Mum wrote to me, she’s upset I haven’t been home, the girls are asking for me. I’m leaving first thing, coming back late on Sunday.”

Harry’s heart fell. He would feel guilty, later, for being so disappointed when Louis was going to say goodbye to a dying relative, but he had been so excited, and now all he could feel was bitter disappointment.

“Oh. Ok. Another time?” His voice was pathetically hopeful and he hated it. Hated how much he sounded like the six year old who needed Louis’ validation so much that he’d agreed to ride down the big hill in Ruskin Park without stabilisers. He still had a scar on his chin from that day.

Later, when Louis had gone, claiming he needed to be up early, Nick would come and sit beside him and whisper that he knew Harry loved Louis. It would be a relief to finally be able to articulate his feelings. Harry had met Nick in the same club he met Greg in. They’d been friends. Only when Greg had left, Nick had stayed. They’d been friends ever since, Nick a sort of fairy godfather guide to the very underground gay scene in London.

“What you need, is a night out and a pretty man to make you feel better.” That was quite honestly Nick’s answer to most of life’s problems. For once Harry didn’t think it would help.

\---

 

It had been a week since the fight and Louis hadn’t seen or spoken to Harry. He had immersed himself in work to stop himself thinking about the fact he was head over heels in love with his best friend. His best friend who had shown absolutely no indication that he might be in love with Louis back, or even might be gay. Louis was an utter idiot. Who fell in love with their best friend? Who risked everything like this? Who lied about going back to see family just to avoid their feelings?

He’d seen Gareth. He’d been to Gateway the night after the fight, drowning his sorrows in cheap vodka, jazz music and kisses that did nothing for him. Gareth was lovely, he really was. He just wasn’t for Louis. He wasn’t Harry, essentially. The guilt of using him like this just added to the weight on Louis’ shoulders, the one that made him go straight back to his boarding house every night after work, refusing to socialise. The one that made him deny all of Liam’s requests to come to the pub. The one that only got worse when Liam told him Harry looked upset when he asked where Louis was, if Louis was avoiding him. The one that grew heavier still when Gareth sent a letter asking to see Louis, to take him on a date, not just one that involved The Gateway. 

The trouble was that Louis didn’t know what to do. He loved Harry. That was the one fixed point in his swirling emotions. He loved Harry and one minute would therefore do nothing to jeopardise their friendship. The next minute he loved Harry and needed to tell Harry, to give Harry the choice. The next minute he was berating himself, of course Harry wasn’t inclined like Louis was. He was putting Harry at risk as much as himself if he confessed. He should go and see Gareth, try to make it work, settle for at least stability if not happiness. His mother may have taught him to never settle, but she wasn’t a gay man living in a world that would rather imprison him or chemically castrate him than let him love another man. 

Somehow, through all his internal debates, carried out lying on his hard single bed, he ended up in The Gateway again two weeks after the fight. Two weeks without Harry had been agony, even as a potential future of endless Harrylessness spread ahead of him. He intended to talk to Gareth, to tell him that it wouldn’t work but that he hoped they could be friends. It sounded pathetic even to his own ears but he couldn’t string Gareth along while he worked out his feelings for Harry, that was the one thing the past two weeks had made him certain of. 

He made it to the bar without incident, needing a drink or two before the conversation. It was there that his plan failed though, for Gareth found him and plastered himself to Louis’ back, arms wrapped around him.

“You’re back, I missed you. Don’t leave me again, please.” Louis’ stomach clenched, guilt eating at him anew. Just when he thought his night couldn’t get any worse he heard a familiar voice amongst the crowd at the bar. It couldn’t be. The universe surely wasn’t that cruel.

“Louis? Are you ok?” Gareth tugged him around, so their bodies were facing, giving Louis the chance to spot Harry and Nick three places down as he did so. Everything slammed to a halt, Louis froze as Gareth ducked down and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was like being underwater, his hearing blurred and he couldn’t breathe. He wondered, just for a second, if it was possible to physically drown on dry land. 

His hearing all rushed back in, like a tide, just in time to hear his name called uncertainly across the crowd by the only voice that mattered. 

“Louis? Is that you?” Louis turned, meeting sad, questioning eyes. Harry looked angry, confused and devastated all at the same time. Louis felt his heart break, wishing he was still numb to the world like he had been seconds before so he didn’t have to feel this.

“Hi, what are you doing here? I didn’t realise...” Louis trailed off. Nick was standing awkwardly behind Harry, looking between the two of them like a spectator at a tennis match. Harry and Nick together in a gay bar added yet another level of hurt and confusion to Louis’ already overloaded mind, all he could do was push it aside and hope he never had to deal with the implications.

“No. I didn’t either. I come here a lot. Or I used to. I haven’t been for a while.” Harry glanced towards Gareth who still had an arm protectively wrapped around Louis. Louis’ brain screamed at him to shrug off the arm, put distance between them, but his body wouldn’t move. “I see you’ve clearly been here before.”

“Hi,” Gareth jumped in, unhelpfully, holding out his hand. “I’m Gareth, Louis’ boyfriend, and you are?”

“I’m Harry. Louis’ best friend. I didn’t realise he  _ had _ a boyfriend.” Harry’s voice was carefully neutral as they shook hands, verging on icy.

“I don’t,” Louis blurted, finally prompting Gareth to let go of him.

“Excuse me? What am I then? Chopped liver?” There was hurt and anger in Gareth’s voice, humiliation too. Louis felt awful. This was very much not how he had envisaged this conversation going.

“I came here to talk to you. Us. It won’t work. Because...” Louis’ eyes involuntarily flicked to Harry. A tiny movement but one that Gareth seemed to pick up easily.

“Because of  _ him _ ?” He practically spat the words, venom lacing every one.

Louis ran. He wouldn’t be proud of himself later but he couldn’t breathe. So many pairs of eyes were on him, the entire crowd watching the spectacle unfold. The only eyes that mattered had averted themselves though, wouldn’t meet Louis’ when Gareth put two and two together. And so Louis ran.

He ran down the King’s Road, past closed up shops and bars spilling warm light into the street. He turned and headed towards the Thames blindly, he needed water and open space and to be able to just bloody breathe for five minutes. The pounding of his blood in his ears would be the only explanation he would think of later for how he hadn’t heard the footsteps chasing him.

He reached the embankment blindly, hardly knowing where he was going, hardly able to see as traitorous tears streamed down his face. His knees gave out and he sunk to the pavement, certain that everything was ruined. How would he explain this to his mum? To Liam? How would he be able to live without Harry now he’d had a taste of him again? How could he have been so fucking careless?

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, making his eyes fly open and his body jerk defensively. Only his luck would have him mugged or beaten or worse on a night like tonight.

“Shush Louis, shhhh, it’s ok. It’s me.” Harry’s voice was both soothing balm and salt in the wound. Harry felt like home, and Louis wanted to sink backwards into his embrace, but Louis had ruined everything and Harry’s presence only managed to reinforce that. He stayed tense, unable to make himself break out of the embrace, he wasn’t that strong, but unwilling to give into it either.

“Harry, go. I’m sorry. I get if you hate me. Please, don’t make this harder.” Louis’ words were choked, barely audible over the pounding of his blood and the hitch of his breath. He hoped Harry heard. Hoped Harry left. Hoped Harry stayed and never let him go.

“How could I hate you? You’re my best friend.” Harry settled behind him, sitting on the pavement in the dark, like it was totally normal.

“I lied. I’m gay. I don’t know. You looked like you hated me. Back there. With Gareth.” All the reasons Louis was so sure of fell apart when he had to say them out loud, seeming weak and fragile and silly. It just made him feel worse.

“We both lied. We’re both gay. I didn’t hate you Louis, I could never hate you.”

“I never knew, about you, I mean.” Louis hopes Harry understood what he meant. Despite years of being in the closet he still didn’t have the language to discuss this with his best friend.

“I didn’t either. That’s the point, I guess.” Harry chuckled grimly.

“Are you and Nick? Umm, are you together, I mean?” The demons in Louis’ mind pushed the question he’s been avoiding out of his mouth unbidden. 

“No! God no, never. Nick’s just a friend. He was friends with my ex. I got to keep him and, well, you know him, he’s great, but he’s not for me.” Harry grimaced as spoke, clearly not enthused by the thought of Nick as anything but a friend. The demons quietened. 

“He took me out tonight to try and get me to forget...” Harry’s voice trailed off, leaving Louis with even more questions.

“Forget what?” He prompted, but wasn’t rewarded with an answer.

“No, nothing. So, you and Gareth? How long has that been a thing?” There was something in Harry’s tone, something bitter and off colour as he said Gareth’s name.

“A little while after we met again. I... I don’t even really know why it started. He’s not my type.” Harry just squeezed Louis tighter and made a noise of displeasure.

“He’s not a bad guy, Harry. Why don’t you like him?” 

“I don’t dislike him. He was just so possessive of you, introducing himself like that, not caring that you’d just been outed. I just want better for you.” Louis wanted better for himself too, he wanted Harry. Knowing that Harry was gay too had planted a seed of hope in him that grew stronger with every moment Harry held him.

“Really? Because it seems like you hate him.” Harry sighed, taking a deep breath like he was stealing himself for something, some vital utterance that he had just decided he should make.

“Oh god, in for a penny. I don’t hate him, I just hated  _ you _ and him. I hated that there was a you and him. Because I’m selfish. Because I want you and  _ me _ .”

Louis was silent. He didn’t move. Moving, talking, it might fracture this seemingly impossible reality where Harry had just declared he wanted Louis. Declared he still wanted Louis, even after Gareth, even after Louis being an idiot who could barely talk to Harry for weeks.

“I guess that’s my answer? No?” Harry misinterpreted, breaking his hold on Louis, moving to put distance between them. 

“No, no! Shush. Listen.” Louis spun around, their eyes finally meeting in the dim glow of the street lights.

“Haz. Hazza. I’ve wanted you since before I knew who you were. That first night? Before we realised?” Hope bloomed on Harry’s face, tentative and fragile. 

“I. Gareth. It was a mistake. I was trying to find someone who wasn’t you. I feel terrible, it wasn’t fair to him. He was never you though, he never made me feel like you do. I never loved him, Harry.” 

“Do you..?” Harry’s words tailed off, drifting into the wind that came off the river.

“I do. I love you. So much it terrifies me.” Louis’ voice was steady finally, if the past two weeks had taught him anything it was that he was in love and that wasn’t going to change. It was the one thing that anchored him in a maelstrom of confusion.

“I love you too, Louis.” Their lips met, finally, the kiss electric and sweet all at the same time. It promised more but demanded nothing. When they finally parted Harry’s lips were stained red , so reminiscent of how they had been as children, like he’d been eating raspberries in the sun.

“Come on, I’m not letting you go home to Shoreditch in this state, Mum won’t mind you taking the spare room.” Louis was in no rush to leave Harry, could happily sit on the pavement overlooking the Thames forever if the threat of arrest hadn’t lurked in the back of his mind.

They stood, stepping a respectable distance apart even though every part of Louis itched for the touch of Harry’s skin. Harry hailed a cab, the driver grumbling at the prospect of heading south of the river but ultimately taking the fare. 

They settled into the cab, a foot of space between them which felt like a mile. As London flashed past Louis relaxed fully, the weight he’d been carrying for months finally lifted from his weary shoulders. He fell asleep just past Vauxhall.

\---

 

Harry woke Louis gently when they arrived at his house, escorting him inside with a hand on the base of his spine. Anne was still awake, in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at Harry as he walked past, almost carrying a sleepy Louis, but accepted his mouthed ‘later’, letting him take Louis upstairs to the spare room. 

Ten minutes later Harry found himself back downstairs, a fresh cup of tea placed in front of him and a question on his mum’s face.

“What happened, love? Louis looks like he’s walked through hell. You don’t look much better.”

“I don’t even know where to start, mum.” Harry rubbed his hand over his eyes, tired down to his bones but knowing he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

“How about you start with the fact you love Louis?” Anne’s voice was kind, soothing, and not judgemental, but it was all the trigger Harry needed to break down and cry anyway. His mum wrapped her arms around him, soothing hands on his back calming him down like she’d done when he was a kid, hurt falling over in the park.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I love you. Dad loves you. Gemma loves you. So long as Louis does too then it’s ok, we’ll get through this.”

“He does, Mum. He loves me too.” Harry finally hiccuped out the words, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. It was humiliating, being a twenty two year old man crying in his mother's arms, but he couldn’t stop.

“Then why are you here, love? Go be with him.” Harry was so lucky. His family were the most supportive people he could imagine. In a world where he could be arrested for loving a man, his mother was encouraging him to pursue that love, to be with Louis. He drained his mug and hugged her one last time before he went upstairs.

When Harry pushed open the door to the spare room, Louis was fast asleep, mouth slightly slack as he breathed deeply. He was lit by the light coming from the hall, making him look soft and peaceful and calm in a way Harry wasn’t sure he had ever seen. It made him loathe to disturb his friend, his boyfriend, and so he quickly shucked off his clothes and climbed into the bed as carefully as possible, keeping his distance. 

He wasn’t careful enough, clearly, because Louis’ breathing hitched, and he turned towards Harry in his sleep, reaching out as if he knew who was there. Harry edged closer, risking waking Louis for the luxury of being able to press a gentle kiss to Louis’ lips. Just as he was pulling away, ready to settle into well earned sleep of his own, Louis responded, kissing back and pulling Harry closer.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, Harry could feel hunger building in the pit of his stomach with every moment their lips touched. Louis still hadn’t opened his eyes, hadn’t made a sound, until finally a tiny whimper escaped him, and it was like a dam had broken. They tore at each other’s sleep clothes, ripping them off with the kind of desperation that could only come from months of pining precursored by years of missing each other. 

“Need you, need more,” Louis whispered the words but they were like a shout in Harry’s ears, his every sense attuned only to Louis. 

Harry pressed kisses into Louis’ jawline, hair, all over his face and down his neck as Louis pulled at Harry, trying to make him do something, anything, Harry wasn’t even sure Louis knew what he wanted. Louis wined loudly, need and want evident in it.

“Shhh baby, have to be quiet, we don’t want anyone to hear.” Anne might have given her blessing but Harry wasn’t about to test that by having her and Des have to listen to them having sex. Fuck, was he really about to have sex with Louis? Louis who had been on a pedestal to him his entire life, but who now lay beneath him, writhing and begging with his eyes.

“Haz,” Louis hissed the word through gritted teeth, “please.”

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.” Harry pressed one last kiss to Louis’ open mouth, taking a moment to savour the taste of him, before he moved down Louis’ body, exploring, kissing, licking. Louis smelled of rain and musk and a faint tang of oil that must never fade from working with cars all day. It was heady and intoxicating and Harry wanted to get high off it for the rest of his life.

Finally he reached the waistband of Louis’ shorts. As he toyed at it Louis’ skin erupted with goosebumps, a bitten back moan telling him Louis wanted this as badly as Harry did. He pulled them down, sitting back for a second to admire the man laid out beneath him. Louis was all long lean muscles and milky white skin. His cock lay thick and hard against his stomach, already leaking and red with want. Harry swallowed heavily before leaning in.

Louis’ cock was heavy and soft on his tongue, the skin like velvet. Harry had to struggle to contain his own moans as he pressed downwards, taking Louis in. Louis was less successful, eventually having to turn his head into the pillow to swallow the sounds he couldn’t control. It shouldn’t have turned Harry on so much, Louis being so noisy was dangerous, but the fact Louis simply  _ couldn’t _ control himself was enough to have Harry’s own cock twitching in his shorts. 

He pressed on, trying desperately to make Louis fall apart underneath him. When Louis cracked, when his hips bucked up into Harry’s mouth, Harry whined quietly in warning, before holding Louis’ hips down, pressing him to the bed. Louis’ hands clenched by his side, pulling and twisting at the sheets.

“Harry, please, more...” Louis words were cut off by a choked gasp when Harry pushed deeper, taking him in further. Harry sped up, feeling the muscles in Louis’ stomach contract and pull as his release approached. 

“Come here, please” Louis tugged him back up, so they were lying side by side. “Need you here. I need to see you.”

One of Louis’ hands buried itself in Harry’s hair, the other travelling softly over his torso as they kissed. When Louis dipped his hand inside Harry’s shorts, Harry thought he might genuinely pass out. Louis touching him, stroking him, it was the best feeling in the world. 

Harry’s own hand moved back to Louis’ cock, teasing and stroking to get Louis back to the twitching mess he had been a few minutes earlier. Slowly they built together to their climax, not an inch of space between them. Louis broke the kiss just as he came, staring into Harry’s eyes and whispering I love yous as he toppled over. Harry followed seconds after him.

They fell asleep curled in each other’s arms, safe and warm and loved. 

 

**Epilogue:**

 

Harry and Louis were by each other’s side during everything. They watched as rationing ended. They watched as the city slowly healed around them. A year after they met again they watched as the trial of three men for homosexual offences somehow kick started a tentative civil rights movement. The they watched as the Wolfenden report begrudgingly said that homosexual acts shouldn’t be an offence in private, and finally cried together in 1967 when their love was decriminalised. 

A year after Stonewall they held hands and walked with a small group through Highbury Fields, and in 1972 they walked with ten times that number through London for the first Pride march. They watched as Pride became a funeral march, and finally when it became a celebration again. They watched their community devastated by plague and could do nothing but hold hands and raise money. They watched as drugs became available to extend life and life as a gay man stopped being a death sentence. 

They watched in 1997 as the European Commission on Human Rights declared it illegal to have differing ages of consent for homosexual and heterosexual couples, and finally in 2000 when the government changed the law. They watched the enacting and the repeal of section 28. They watched in 2004 when all homosexual acts were finally removed from the sexual offences act. 

Finally they stood outside a registry office on the morning of the 5th of December 2005 at eleven am and watched the first gay couple celebrate entering into a civil partnership. They watched as friends and families and strangers cried and cheered and supported. They watched until Louis tugged at Harry’s hand, pulling him away from the scene.

“Harry Styles.” Louis’ voice was choked already. “I’m a seventy seven year old man, so there will be no bended knee for me, but I have to say this. You’ve been mine, and I yours, for fifty three years, and no piece of paper from a registry office will change that. But Harry. We can. Finally we can officially be together. I’ve booked a slot. All you have to do is say yes. I love you Harry, will you marry me?”

They entered into a civil partnership half an hour later, in a room where Louis had told their friends to meet them. Liam was there with his wife Laura, his two children, and their brood of grandchildren. Niall was there with his third wife, and best wishes from his own children who were scattered across the world. Nick was there alone, his partner having passed away a few years prior. Even Zayn showed, having flown in from Spain where he had retired ten years earlier. Their siblings all attended, all with their own families in tow. If Gemma and Lottie held each other in the toilets after and cried then no one needed to know. 

It was a quiet ceremony, their life celebrations having been and gone many times over before that point. They had a meal after in a restaurant on the Kings Road. It was a day of celebration and love.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments are like oxygen.
> 
> See you when the authors are revealed


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